The Quiet Life of an Old Bachelor: At Ease in His Own Company
Edward was a bachelor well into his later years. He lived his life at his own pace, and solitude had never troubled him. He worked tirelessly, but he loved what he did. He was meticulouseverything had to be just so, each item in its rightful place. He had met many women, but none had seemed quite right. That year, at the end of July, he decided to take a holiday and head south. Tired of routine, he longed to escape civilisation for a while. He went online and placed an advert.
A woman with two children replied, living in a quiet Cornish village. The beach was a twenty-minute walk away, but the place was far from resorts and towns. There was a private room, and in exchange for groceries, she would cook him homemade meals. He was eventually convinced. The journey went smoothlythe satnav didnt fail him. The house was old but clean, the room cosy, and the owner, Margaret, was kind. In the yard, a little Jack Russell terrier scampered about. In the garden, fruit ripened on the trees, while the two children, a boy and a girl of nine or ten, helped with chores. Margaret didnt bother him, only asking what hed like to eat, filling his plate with strawberries, and smiling warmly.
Edward spent his days at the beachswimming, climbing rocks, taking photos, and messaging an old friend on Facebook. Sometimes, he wondered how a woman in her fifties had such young children. Eventually, he asked:
“Margaret, are these your grandchildren?”
“No,” she replied, “theyre mine, just late arrivals. Life didnt lead me to marry, but I wanted children. And Im not that oldIm only forty-eight.”
As they talked, Edward studied her more closely. She was warm, quick to laugh, and he liked her name. Margaret. Maggie. His mother had been called that. She smelled of strawberries and fresh butter. The white wine was light, the evenings mild, and the sky full of stars. Neither of them beat around the bushthey were adults. By day, everything seemed ordinary, but at night, Edward would quietly slip over to Margarets side of the house before returning to his own room. The children mustnt wake. The little dog never barked, just watched him shrewdly, as if understanding everything. Good dog, frugal tooate two spoonfuls and guarded the yard diligently. Her name was Millie.
Millie began accompanying him to the beach, swimming with him, shaking off sand, drying in the sun, then trotting home ahead of him. One day, though, she didnt return. Edward searched everywhere, called her name, plastered dozens of posters around the village. Where was she? An elderly neighbour suggested outsiders renting a cottage at the far end of the village might have taken her. Edward drove there just in time to hear theyd left an hour earlier, heading for the main road with a small dog.
He sped after them, catching up eighty miles later, blocking their path. Two young women climbed out of the jeep, bold and scowling.
“Oi, move your car! Cant you drive? Well call the police!”
“Call them,” Edward said, “but first, give back the dog.”
“Lucky for you,” the taller one sneered. “She was a straywere rescuing her.”
“Shes not a stray,” he snapped. “She has a family. Shes not yours.”
“Piss off!” the other shrieked. “Move or well smash your windows!”
Edward ignored them and called, “Millie!” The dog yapped frantically, scrambling over seats toward the half-open window. The women cursed, grabbed at her, even tried to hit him. He didnt know what to dohe wouldnt hit women.
Luckily, a weary policeman arrived, wiping sweat from his brow. Covering his ears from the girls shrieks, he took Millie.
“Quiet! The dog goes to whoever she chooses. Neither of you has papers for her.”
“Here, sweetie,” the girls coaxed, waving ham.
“Come on, Millie,” Edward said.
The officer set her down. She bolted straight to Edward, tail wagging wildly.
“Seems settled,” the policeman sighed.
“No, shes ours!” they screeched. “Well report you!”
The officer turned red.
“Either leave now, or Ill check your insurance, fire extinguisher, warning triangle, first-aid kit, and count every pill in that car. And Ill run the platessee if its stolen.”
The jeep sped off.
Edward shook the officers hand.
“Thanks.”
“Dont mention it. Ive got a terrier too. Clever little thing. Wears a coat in wintercant stand the cold. Good breed, loyal. Handy size. Drive safe.”
Edward got back in the car. Millie curled on his lap, warm and soft as velvet. He felt goodhadnt felt like this in years. The road was quiet, the engine purred, and Millie was calm. Yet, amid the peace, his chest tightened. Soon, hed have to leave. No one waited for him at home. The thought of simply turning the car around and taking Millie with him flickered in his mind. What did he have? A few shirts, underwear, a tracksuit. The idea lingered. He sighed and drove back to Maggies.
The last week was rainy, but Edward still went to the beachMillie with him. At night, he crept to Maggies room, and each morning, the ache grew worse. On his last day, the sun shone. He packed the night before. Left Maggie a gift, said goodbye, gave her his number, and got in the car.
He drove slowly, thinking his holiday, his summer fling, was overtime for routine again. Hed just reached the tarmac when he saw Millie sprinting after him. He sped up. She ran faster. He pressed the accelerator.
The little dog began to fall behind, then vanished. He stopped. Got out, lit a cigarette, hands shaking. Smoked it down, stubbed it out, and stared at the road.
A tiny speck moved on the tarmac. Edward ran, praying no car would hit her. Hadnt run like this in years. Millie charged forward, as if giving her last strength. Dust coated her fur, tongue, eyes, even her little ears. Her tail wagged, but when she tried to bark, she only sneezed.
Edward picked her up, wiped her clean, gave her water from his bottle. Then he called Maggie, a smile in his voice: “Fancy a change of scenery? Me, Millie, and two small passengers are on our way back home.”
